9&T 


IN 
THE   WILDERNESS 


BY 

JOHN  T.  FARE 


GRAFTON  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
LOS  ANGELES,  CALIFORNIA 


Copyright  1913 

by 

JOHN  T.  FARE 
Los  Angeles,  California 


"In  My  Father's  House  are  Many  Mansions,  if  it 
were  not  so,  I  would  have  told  you." 

—John  14;  2. 


'7951268 


To  the  Memory  of  the  Mother 
who  taught  her  lisping  child  to 
pray,  this  book  is  respectfully 
dedicated. 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

I. 

The  Azure  Fields  were  veil'd  as  with  a 

dew; 
The  Meadow-cups    were    lost  to    mortal 

view; 
The  silvery  Lake  lent  not  its  wonted 

light, 
For  Gloom    had    stretch'd  her   canopy — 

'twas    Night. 

n. 
And  Silence  strange — as  if  the  pulse  of 

Time 
Had    ceased,  and    Neverness    was  in  its 

prime, — 
Did  reign ;  and  reigning  augur'd  things 

to  be; 

Things    felt— by    what?     Ah!  that's    the 
mystery. 


8  IN     THE     WILDERNESS 

III. 

But  soon  the  calm  was  rent  by  clanging 

sound, 
And  voice  was  heard  to  make  the  hills 

resound 
With  cry  for  light  unto  the  House  of 

Brain — 
List,  list!    The  cry  it  doth  repeat  again. 

IV. 

"Within,   Avithin,   kind   friend,   within,    I 

say! 
A  child    along  life's    path  hath    lost  its 

way. 
I  search  for  Light,  if  thou  His  servant 

be, 
Direct  my  path.    Who,  where,  and  what 

is  He?" 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS 
V. 

"Direct  my  path !"       Indeed  a  prattling 

tongue 
Hath  struck    full  hard    upon  the    mental 

gong, 
And  broke  the  peace.    Wake,  wake  and 

cease  to  nod; 
The  child  doth  answer  seek :    Who — what 

is  God? 

VI. 

Tis  cried  full  oft  that  the  All-Good — the 

Just, 
Made  man  in  His  own  image  from  the 

dust; 
And    that    the    dust    He    chose    from 

Mother  Earth 
Did  faulty  prove,  and  we've  been  damn'd 

from  birth. 


10  IN    THE    WILDERNESS 

VII. 

Wake,  wake  and  lean  to  thought,  and  err 
no  more. 

Go  think  of  all  who  have  gone  on  be 
fore, 

Whose  lives  had  been  one  endless  liv 
ing  fear 

Of  Hell's  torments  for  those  they  held 
most  dear. 

VIII. 

Methinks  no  Dives  cried  with   parching 

tongue 
For    water,    while    the    lambent    flames 

among, 
More  loud  than  they  will  who  with  fear 

imbue 
Their  fellow-man    with  song   of  "Chosen 

few." 


IN     THE    WILDERNESS  11 

IX. 

The  "Chosen  few"?    The  chosen  are  the 
whole, 

The    images    of    Truth — of    Life's    true 
soul; 

And  one    in  all,  and    all  in  one    com 
bine 

As  radiating  rays  of  Light  Divine. 

x. 

Aye,  rays;  each  one  an  offspring  of  the 
Just, 

A    heavenly    guest    within    a    House    of 
dust, 

Oh,  care  it  well,  it  is  the  ever  Thee ! 

Neglect     it — and     thine    own     deformer 
be. 


12  IN   THE:   WILDERNESS 

XI. 

I  never  gaze  upon  a  cripple  shorn 

Of  power  but  what  my  breast  with  grief 

is  torn. 
The  Me  therefore  I'd  care;  for  this  I 

know, 
That  death  is  birth — and  we  have  far  to 

go- 

XII. 

So  let  us  gather  in  this  Error's  thought, 

And   place   it  on   the   altar  where   'twas 
wrought ; 

Then  in  the  shadow  of  the  Cross  we'll 

stand 

And  watch  the  temple  fall— 'twas  built  on 
sand. 


IN   THE;  WILDERNESS  13 

XIII. 

The    Barque    we've    piloted  full    many  a 
year 

With  helm  lash'd  hard  aport  with  thong 
of  fear; 

And  in  a  circle  it  hath  ever  sail'd, 

But    haven    sought    for  we    have    never 
hail'd. 

XIV. 

With  bearings  lost,  with  Compass  gone 
before, 

We  fremble  at  the  sound  of  breakers'  roar. 

"See,   see,   the   path!     Here   footsteps 
mark  the  sea: 

The  Saviour  pass'd  this  way  from  Gal 
ilee  !" 


14  IN     THE    WILDERNESS 

XV. 

The  breakers  of  the  There  are  far  from 
Here; 

The   Here   is   but   the   Where   of  Truth 
held  dear. 

The  There  doth  not  exist  to  Mind  Su 
preme  ; 

The  Here  is  Now,  the  Now  is  ever  green. 

XVI. 

For  God  is  Love,  and  Love  is  Life  Di 
vine; 

He  breathed  the  breath  of  Life,  and  life 
is  thine; 

And  being  thine  it  is  the  inner  Thee ; 
And  being  mine  it  is  the  inner  Me. 


IN     THE    WILDERNESS  15 

XVII. 

That     convoluted     loom     we     call     the 

brain, 
With  which  we  daily  weave  our  bolt  of 

pain, 
Was  made  the  shuttle  of  sweet  Peace 

to  run; 
The  shuttle's   thread  of   Grace — by   God 

was  spun. 

XVIII. 

But  from    a  flax    we've    spun  a    faulty 
twine 

To  feed  the  cop   from  which  the  comb 

to  line, 

Until     the     old     machine     cries     out, 
"Enough ! 

I've  wrought  too  long  with  your  sepul 
chral  stuff. 


16  IN    THE    WILDERNESS 

XIX. 

"The     warp     of     Error's     thought    hath 

strain'd  the  beam ; 
My    shuttle    it    hath    lost    its    heavenly 

gleam, 
And    bears  a    nap  from    out  a    dusty 

store ; 
'T would  see  the  smile  of  God.     Enough 

— no  more!" 

xx. 

His  smile?    Aye,  smile.    For  dark  indeed 

is  day 
When  light  is  low  and  Grief's  old  tent 

of  gray 
Is  pitch'd,  and  tears  flow.    But  there  is 

light : 
Peep  through  its  rents — His  stars  with 

smiles  are  bright. 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS  17 

XXL 

Methinks,   the    Barque — of    which   I   yet 
have  spake — 

Could  float  full  well,  and  leave  within  its 
wake 

A    troubled    stream,    upon    the    briny 
tears 

That  Sorrow's  eyes  have  shed  in  bygone 
years. 

XXII. 

Upon  my  window's  pane  a  tear  I  see ; 

It  runs — now  stops  as  if  in  fear;  may 
be 

It  is  in  search  of  some  familiar  eye 

With  whom   it  made   its   home   in   years 
gone  by. 


18  IN    THE    WILDERNESS 

XXIII. 

Perhaps   'twas   in   some   saintly   cloister- 
cell, 

Where    devotee    her    matin    beads    did 

tell, 
That  it  sought  freedom  from  a  pious 

orb 
To  join  with  Prayer  that  doth  all  grief 

absorb. 

XXIV. 

Aye,  join  with  Prayer,  that  messenger  of 

man 
That  to  the  Throne  of  Grace,  since  time 

began, 
Hath  borne    our  soul-thoughts;    tho'ts, 

oft   frank'd   with   tears, 
That   have   returned   with    Peace   to   still 

our  fears. 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS  19 

XXV. 

Our  fears?    The  seed  within  a  shadow's 

pod! 

Hath  Clay  ta'en  on  the  potency  of  God 
And   turned  Artisan?     The   light  turn 


on : 


The  pod  is  broken  and  the  seed  is  gone. 

XXVI. 

The  light    turn  on?      From    where,  and 

when,  and  how? 

The  smile  of  God  illumes  the  ever  Now. 
Turn  on  the  light!     Effect  go  rule  the 

cause ! 

The  cause,  and  whence  came  it?    Divine 
Mind  knows. 


20  IN     THE    WILDERNESS 

XXVII. 

The  great  Omnipotent,  Omniscient  He ! 
The  Omnipresent  One  to  Thee  and  Me,— 
But  for  the  Dust  that  keeps  our  vision 

bound 

In     darkness,     true     unto     the     Mother 
Ground, — 

XXVIII. 

He   knows.     And   will   He   hold   us   free 
from  guile 

Who    help  to    make  the    Garment    in  a 

style 

To  hide  the  True— that  He  Himself  had 
wrought, 

And  make  shade  substance,  and  the  Sub 
stance  naught? 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS  21 

XXIX. 

That  speck    of  dust    that    in  the    ray  of 

light 
Is  ever  seen  in  borrow'd  garments  dight, 

We'd    turn    into    a    beam    of    woeful 

note; 

The  heavenly  ray  we'd  thrust  inside  the 
mote. 

xxx. 

That   which    is,    is,    and    will   be   so   for 

aye; 
And  being  so  it  cannot  pass  away. 

For  all  things  made  were  made  by  the 
All  Wise; 

All  else    is  shadow,   from    which    errors 
rise. 


22  IN   THE:   WILDERNESS 

XXXI. 

He   knows:    The    Father   of   the    father, 

He; 
The  Lord  of  lords  who  made  the  perfect 

Thee. 
The   perfect  Me?     The  me  that  is,  is 

what? 
A  shell — a  shadow  by  a  Shade  begot. 

XXXII. 

Aye,  by  a  Shade  that  sprang  from  False 
hood's  thought ; 

Begot     in    darkness,     and    by     Darkness 

wrought ; 

A  semblance    of  a    something    that  is 
naught, 

That  from  the  land  of  Nothingness  was 
brought. 


IN  THE  WILDERNESS  23 

XXXIII. 

The    shell?      Oh,  rend  its    portals    open 
wide, 

As  was  the  tomb  from  which  the  Cru 
cified 

In  all   His    glory  came;    and  see    the 
Man, 

The  perfect  Man,  as  when  the  world  be 
gan. 

xxxiv. 

I  scarce  e'er  listen  to  the  ocean's  roar, 
Or  see  the  waves  in  anger  lash  the  shore, 
But    what,    methinks,  I  see    Golgotha 

sway 

And  rend  itself — as  on  the  Passion-day. 


24  IN   THE   WILDERNESS 

XXXV. 

Or    watch    the    heaving    of    its    troubled 
breast, 

When  fleck'd  with  foam  from  off  its  tear 
ful  crest, 
But  what  I  see  on  lip  the  spumy  stain, 

And  hear  the  Magdalene's  cry  of  pain. 

xxxvi. 

And  when  the  spray  doth  hap  to  touch 

my  lip, 
As  from  the  savor'd  nebule  I  do  sip, 

Into  my  breast  a  kindly  solace  flows ; 
Perhaps  it    was   His    tear — who    knows, 

who  knows. 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS  25 

XXXVII. 

His  tear,  and  brought  by  sobbing  winds 

from  mound 
Where   Error's  ashes  mark'd  the  whited 

ground 

That  lay  in  shadow  of  that  veil  of  woe 
The  angels   rent   when   Dust  was   in   its 

throe. 

XXXVIII. 

Aye,  in  deep  throe  was  Garment  of  the 

Man, 
A  Garment  wrought  when  world  of  Dust 

began ; 
By    Adam    to    his    offspring  'twas    be- 

queath'd, 
And  all  have  worn,  and  wearing  it  have 

grieved. 


26  IN     THE     WILDERNESS 

XXXIX. 

'Tis    writ    that    Judas    fell    and    bowels 

spew'd 
Upon  the  ground.    Methinks  the  Saviour 

hued 
The  very  spot  with  crimson  from  the 

side 
That  knew  the  spear  ere  He  scarce  yet 

had  died. 

XL. 

And  as  the  stream  gush'd  forth  from  out 

the  Fount 
A  quaking  dread  possess'd  the  skull-clad 

mount, 
And  with   its   fearful  bosom's  heaving 

waves 
It  waked  the  dead — who  left  their  tainted 

graves. 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS  27 

XLI. 

Oh,  better  far  had  Judas  ne'er  been  born 

Than    till  the    Dust  that    gave  to    life  a 
thorn, 

Whose  cruel  teeth  were  pointed  as  with 
steel, 

To  rend  the  brow  that  bore  the  Heavenly 
Seal. 

XLIL 

Methinks  I  see  the  passion'd  face  of  Love, 

With  pleading  look,  turn  to  the  heavens 
above, 

And  cry,  ere  yet  His  eyes  were  lost  to 
view, 

" Father,  forgive!     They  know  not  what 
they  do." 


28  IN   THE:   WILDERNESS 

XLIII. 

"Father,    forgive!"      With    pity's    soulful 

cry 
He    pleaded  for    mankind  with    Life  on 

high. 
That  prayer  divine  let  memory  sacred 

keep, 
For  with  the  plea  on  tongue  He  went  to 

sleep. 

XLIV. 

Oh,  glorious  morn  that  saw  the  Saviour 
rise 

A  victor  o'er  the  tomb  where  Error  lies ! 
And  in  His  Majesty  and  Truth  appear 

Unto    the    one    redeem'd — by    Him    held 
dear. 


IN     THE    WILDERNESS  29 

XLV. 

Aye,  the  redeemed.    The  one  that  He  had 

brought 
From  out  the  labyrinth  of  Error's  thought 

Into  the  open  of  the  Heavenly  Way, 
When    cast    aside    as    one    unclean — by 
Clay. 


XLVI. 

As  one  unclean,  a  wanderer  unknown 
To  all  save    them  who    had  with    Error 

grown ; 
And  in  the  pool  of  Deep  Despair  they 

dwell, 
A  surging  mass  within  a  grieving  hell. 


30  IN   THE   WILDERNESS 

XLVIL 

Yet  from  its  deep  comes  hand  in  wake 

of  hand 
With  clawing  sweep,  as  if  to  reach  the 

land; 
Like  wind-sped  sails — when  mill  is  hid 

from  view, 
They    pass    from    sight — perhaps    to    try 

anew. 

XLVIII. 

And   if   perchance   a   one   should   hap   to 

hit 
Upon  the  Rock,  and  creep  from  out  the 

pit, 
Some  Levite  of  the  Dust — in  Virtue's 

name, 
Will    cry,    "Unclean !     Unclean !     Hence 

whence  you  came." 


IN     THE    WILDERNESS  31 

XL1X. 

Unclean  !      Unclean    the    Clay    of   man's 

own  kind? 

Unclean  the  tenement  wherein  the  mind 
Doth  dwell?    Then,  like  the  Magdalene, 


Unto  the  Fount  —  there  cleansing  waters 
flow. 


L. 

With  Garment  soil'd  with  frailty's  earthy 

spot 
She  sought  the  Life  to  free  her  from  the 

blot; 
And  from  her  eyes  repentant  tears  did 

stray 
To  lave  His  feet  —  they  wash'd  her  sins 

away. 


32  IN     THE     WILDERNESS 

LI. 

Methinks   I    see    her  as    with    tear-clad 
face 

She    humbly   kneels    imploring   Him    for 
grace ; 

Imploring  with  that  silence  of  despair 

That's  voiced  by  falling  tears — each  tear 
a  prayer. 

LII. 
And  now  a  sound  like  unto  wafting  wings 

I  hear.     A  heavenly  sound  and  one  that 
brings 

The  thought  of  angels  speeding  down 
to  greet 

A   soul   redeem'd — low   at   the    Saviour's 
feet. 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS  33 

LIII. 

No  anger'd  cry,   from   Him,  no  loathing 

look 
As  from    the    ground    the    penitent    He 

took ; 
But  with  a  voice  that  brought  to  grief 

surcease 
He  said,  "Thy  faith  hath  saved  thee — go 

in  peace." 

LIV. 

'Thy  faith  hath  saved."     Oh,  would  that 

child-like  trust 
Were  fully  mine!     Then  from  this  Shell 

of  Dust 
I'd  speed   the  webs   that  on   its  walls 

recline, 
And    let  the    light  of    God    in    fullness 

shine. 


34  IN   THE;   WILDERNESS 

LV. 

Methought    my    house    in    order  I    had 
placed, 

And  from  its  corners  all  the  spots  erased ; 

Its    windows    they    were    bright,    and 
many  a  ray 

Of  sunshine    to  my    chamber    found  its 
way. 

LVI. 

Its  portals  knew  no  dust — though  some 
ajar, 

And  kindly  visitors  from  out  the  far — 

In   thought,   did   often   come   and   chat 
with  me 

About  the  heavenly   Now — the  Then   to 
be. 


IN     THE    WILDERNESS  35 

LVII. 

But  stranger  came :   I  welcome  gave  to 
him, 

And  held  converse,   when,   lo,   the   light 
grew  dim, 

For  window's  pane  was  veil'd  with  web 
of  gray; 

A  Spider!     Ah,  we  all  must  watch  and 
pray ! 

LVIII. 

The  garden  of  despair — Gethsemane, 
Did  e'en  the  spinning  Weaver  know,  for 
he 

A  web  did  weave  within  its  troubled 
shade 

That  caught  the  passion'd  tears  of  Him 
who  pray'd. 


36  IN     THE     WILDERNESS 

LIX. 

And  with  the  glistening  tears  the  webby 

shroud 
Was  'lumed  e'en  as  a  lamp  to  mark  the 

crowd 
That  writhing  surged  in   Error's  dark 

abyss, 
From     which — like     serpent,     crept     the 

Judas-kiss. 

LX. 
Aye,  crept  like  serpent  under  night's  deep 

shade 
To    kiss  the    cheek  of    one  he    had  be- 

tray'd ; 
For  darkness  is  the  breath  that  Error 

breathes, 

And  breathing  it,   it  slays   whom   it   de 
ceives. 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS  37 

LXI. 

How  oft  we  mortals  sit  and  strain   the 
eye 

To  see  the  work  that  in  the  lap  doth  lie, 
When  worldly  winter,  with  its  weather- 
stain, 

Hath   curtain'd   out   the   light   from   win 
dow's  pane. 

LXII. 

Aye,  strain   to    see   the    lines  by    Artist 
made, 

That  we  with  wisdom's  thread  must  mark 
to  shade 

And     fashion     incorruption's     Emblem 
Rose; 

But,     ah,    alas!— how     oft    the     Cypress 
grows. 


38  IN     THE     WILDERNESS 

LXIII. 

Our  trembling  ringers,  with  their  coats 
of  stain 

Drawn    by  the    temper'd  needle's    point, 
would  gain, 

By  labor — foreign  to  all  rest,  the  bread 

To  feed  the  that  with  which  the  worms 
are  fed. 

LXIV. 

And   in   our   haste   and   deep   forgetful- 
ness, 
The   sop    for   That   within   grows   daily 

less, 
Until  the  larder  proves  an  empty  bowl 

With  ne'er  a  crumb  to  feed  the  hunger'd 
Soul. 


IN     THE    WILDERNESS  39 

LXV. 

Methinks  I  hear  the  man-wrought  needle 
cry — 

"Why  thrust  your  flimsy  thread  into  my 
eye? 

You  start  with    pain  if  I  your    ringer 
wound ! 

Then  why  not  I?    Your  logic  is  unsound. 

LXVI. 

"  'Tis  said  that  you  from  common  dust 
were  made, 

From  dust  that  Time  amid  the  dust  had 
laid, 

And  that  an  artisan  of  standing  high 

Did   draw  you  forth.     Well,   cousin — so 
was  I." 


40  IN     THE     WILDERNESS 

LXVII. 

Each    day    we    meet   with    kindred    long 
unknown, 

As  o'er  this  sand-dune  by  the  winds  we're 

blown ; 

We  meet  them  here,  and  then  we  meet 
them  there, 

In  fact,  like  dust,  we  meet  them  every 
where. 

LXVIII. 

And    one  and    all  seem    foreign  to    the 

place, 
And   wavering   stand — as   if  they  would 

retrace 
Their  steps,  then  speed  to  left  and  then 

to  right, 
Again  to  left,  and  then — alas !  'tis  Night. 


IN     THE    WILDERNESS  41 

LXIX. 

Oh,  blessed  He  who  did  in  ages  gone 

Reverse  the  stone  that  mark'd  the  path 
way  wrong! 

A  path  that's  led  us  to  this  dusty  plain, 

Far  from  the  land  of  Light  that  we  would 
gain. 

LXX. 

But    mortal    eyes    inured    to    shade    of 

night, 
That  we  would  turn  unto  the  heavenly 

light, 

Are,  in  their  weakness,  blinded  by  its 
ray, 

And  we  still  need  His  voice  to  lead  th? 
way. 


42  IN     THE     WILDERNESS 

LXXI. 

For  Love's  bright  beams  arise  on  every 

side 
That  marks  the  Narrow  Path,  that  in  the 

Wide— 

Where   whirlwinds    dance   with     dust, 

whose  revelry 
Is  cradled  in  its  grave — we  never  see. 

LXXII. 
And  in  our  mazy  state  we're  prone  to  read 

The  signs  and  symbols — that  are  placed 
to  lead, 

From  right  to  left,  until,  some  late,  we 
learn 

That  we're  astray,  and  know  not  where 
to  turn. 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS  43 

LXXIII. 

Full    many   a    morn    we've    seen,    whose 
winning  smile 

Hath  drawn  us  far  afield  with  witching 

guile, 

That  did  o'ersoon   upon   us  turn  with 
lash 

Of  wind  and  rain  midst  laughing  thun 
der's  crash. 

LXXIV. 
For  through  the  lenses  of  the  mortal  eye 

We  see  the  "Evening's  red'1  when  morn  is 

nigh, 
And  augur  that  the  day  full  bright  will 

be, 
And  sup  with  Sorrow  ere  the  night  we 

see. 


44  IN     THE     WILDERNESS 

LXXV. 

For    with  the    dust  the    wind  will    ever 

play 

And  toss  it  hither,  thither,  everyway; 
So  that  the  Night  oft  laughs  and  cries 

to  Morn, 
"My  friend,  you  sow'd  the  seed — go  reap 

the  thorn!" 

LXXVI. 

Seed — Error  sown!    The  dead  harvest  the 

dead! 
Whence    came   this    seed — in    what   pod 

was  it  bred? 
Its  spark  of  life,  from  what  source  was 

it  drawn? 
Not  from  the  mouth  of  God.    Then  hence 

the  spawn. 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS  45 

LXXVII. 

For  life — eternal,  true,  was  breathed  by 

Love 
To    fill  all    space— the    Here,  the    There 

above ; 

And  filling  space  the  Omnipresent  He 
Hath  made  all  one  by  heavenly  alchemy. 

LXXVIII. 

And  being  one  the  smile  of  the  Divine 
Within  my  neighbor  as  myself  doth  shine ; 
And  shining  it  reflects  the  living  Light, 
The  Light  that  knows  no  darkness  of  the 
Night. 


46  IN     THE    WILDERNESS 

LXXIX. 

And  from  it  flows  an  ever  pulsing  stream 
Of    love  to    heal  the    ills  of    life's    false 

dream ; 
And   healing,   leaves   the   Man — as   He 

had  wrought, 
An     offspring     of     Himself  —  a     perfect 

Thought. 

LXXX. 

But   as    the   running   waters    pass    from 

sight 
Beneath  the  stratum  that  impedes  their 

flight, 
So  in  the  long  ago  love's  stream   ran 

low 
Beneath  the  bank  of  Sin  where  Sorrows 

grow. 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS  47 

LXXXI. 

And    all    was    dark    until    the    heavenly 
One, 

Whose  lowly  birth  the  guiding  star  shone 
on, 

Did  rend  the  brank  Cimmerian  full  wide 
With  light  of  Truth — and  rending  bruised 
His  side. 

LXXXII. 

And  from  the  light  did  radiate  a  beam 
Of  love  that  brought  unto  the  blind  the 

gleam 

Of  day;  and  in  the  sorrowing  house  of 
death 

It  brought  unto  the  dead  a  living  breath. 


48  IN     THE     WILDERNESS 

LXXXIII. 

And  for  the  lost  illumed  the  sought-for 

way, 
And  gently  led  the  ones  who  had  astray 

In  darkness  gone,  back  to  the  path  of 
peace, 

Where  flowers    grow,  and    sorrow    finds 
surcease. 

LXXXIV. 

Methinks     I     hear     Bethesda's     arched 

vault 
Give  echo  to  the  cries  of  blind  and 

halt; 
Cries  from  the  past  that  do  its  curtain 

raise, 

And  on  the  scenes  of  long  ago  I  gaze. 


IN     THE    WILDERNESS  49 

LXXXV. 

I  see  the  crippled,  palsied — youth  and  age, 
Of  life's  great  tome  a  torn  and  tatter'd 

page, 

Each  one  intent  on  leaping  in  the  tide 
Ere  doth  the  stricken  brother  at  his  side. 

LXXXVI. 

Each  with  an  eye  or  ear  attuned  to  catch 
The  moment  when  the  troubled  water's 

latch 

Shall  rise,  and  portal  open  for  the  guest, 
Whose  touch  to  faith-clad  brings  a  heal 
ing  rest. 


50  IN     THE    WILDERNESS 

LXXXVII. 

While   on   a  pallet,  near  the   pool,  there 
lies 

A  palsied  form — full  old,  who  ever  cries, 

"Oh,  for  the  love  of  God,  come  aid  me 
lend 

To   water's    edge,   ere    angel    does   des 
cend  !" 


LXXXVIII. 

And  cry  in  vain?     No,  not  in  vain;  for 
he 

Did  sup  from  cup  of  loving  sympathy 

And  rise  renew'd — free  from  all  ill  and 
care, 

At  Life's  command — for  Christ  was  there. 


IN     THE     WILDERNESS  51 

LXXXIX. 

And  in  the  Now  as  in  the  Then  the  same 
Light  glows  to  lead  the  fallen,  blind  and 

lame; 
And  glowing,  lights  the  pathway  to  the 

Gate, 
Where   they   who   have   gone    on    do   its 

await. 

xc. 

And  o'er  its  archway,  writ  in  rubied  hue, 
The  Master's  call — for  all,  not  for  the  few, 

"ALL  YE  WHO  TOIL  AND  ARE  WITH  GRIEF 
OPPRESSED, 

COME    UNTO    ME    AND    I    WILL    GIVE    YOU 
REST." 


52  IN     THE     WILDERNESS 

XCI. 

And    that  is    Love.      His    message  it  is 

thine, 
'Twas      Magdalene's — Mary's — and      'tis 

mine, 

And  comes  as  manna  did  in  ages  past, 
So   that   our   hunger'd    souls   may   break 

the  fast. 


2198 


795268 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


